Matching Shadows
by faeriegirl12
Summary: A TID take on Matched. . . Tessa Gray lives in a futuristic world where, at 16, each teen is Matched with their soulmate. When Tessa is Matched, she finds herself torn between loyalty and faith, allure and adventure. In the end, with the impending war and death in on the horizon, who will survive? And which Match will Tessa choose?
1. Chapter 1: Golden Doubts

**Matching Shadows**

**Summary: **Basically a TID take on Ally Condie's _Matched. _For those of you who haven't read _Matched. . . _Tessa Gray lives in a futuristic world where, at 16, each teen is Matched with their soulmate—someone who's perfect for them in every way. When Tessa is Matched, she finds herself torn between loyalty and faith, allure and adventure. In the end, it boils down to a war. . . Which Match will she choose? And with the rising battlefield, who knows if Tessa will survive?

_Matching Angels _will not necessarily follow the plotline of _Matched. _FYI. Just saying so y'all can't come and flame me for it.

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own ****_Matched _****or TID. **

**Chapter One: Golden Doubts**

* * *

"Oh, Theresa," gushes my mother in an almost falsely enthusiastic tone, "it's lovely!"

Lovely. Huh. I scowl darkly at my reflection in the mirror as the mirror expands so I can see myself from every angle. . . just what I want. It's a day before my Matching banquet, and I'm torn between bored to tears or emotionally unstable. The thing is, in my world, girls and boys are all Matched together (sort of like. . . forcibly put together with your supposed soulmate by the government). I haven't the slightest clue who my Match is. But then again, does it really matter? Do I really, truly care? Nooooo. If I had it my way, I'd be left to my thoughts in my family's great library with everything classic and a cup of tea. But I just turned sixteen, so I get to be stuck together with my "soulmate." Theresa Gray doesn't have a soulmate. Unless it's a book. Then you've got my interest.

But my father, Richard Gray, works in the government, so naturally, I have no choice about whether or not I'm ready to be Matched. I secretly think he knows who my Match is—he just won't tell me. And my mother, Elizabeth Gray, is no help. She's thrown herself into dress shopping for the perfect Matching banquet dress, dragging me to expensive couture shops run by the government. And then there's me: a mess of sulky gray eyes and brown hair, plain in every way. The only reason I tolerate this. . . torture is because it's my duty. It is Theresa Gray's duty to get Matched and follow the system. According to my father, I have a great destiny. Whatever.

But all the same, as I stare at myself in the mirror, I feel a small prickle of excitement. It's my Matching banquet. Tomorrow night, I will be Matched with. . . my partner, I guess.

"What do you think, Theresa?"

"Fine," slips automatically past my mouth. "I mean, it's fine. The dress is fine."

A frown creases my mother's brow. I gulp. "Do you like it?"

I gaze almost wistfully at the pretty golden number. The hem brushes my knees and adds actual color to my monochrome skin tone of pale, pale, and paler. It makes it look like there's a happy flush in my cheeks. And at least it's relatively simple and extremely flattering, unlike the heavy, drape-like bloodred one my mother dragged out of the salesperson. . . And that water-stain purple one. . . And the sensible vomit-green dress. I like the golden gown. I'll admit that much.

"I like it," I declare, fiddling with the hem. What I'd give for a nice book to bury my face in right now. . .

My mother looks like I've just performed twenty perfect pirouettes, executed a flip, and announced I have a desire to tear my clothes to shreds with a butcher's knife. "Really, Theresa?"

I sigh out, "Would I lie to you?"

A squeal erupts from my mother, stunning my eardrums into oblivion. Um, ow! The next thing I know, she's catapulted out of her chair and flung her arms around my neck. I find myself on the receiving end of a strangling embrace. A strangling _awkward _embrace.

"Um. . . calm down, Mother," I mumble, gingerly patting her on the back. "I'm all right. The dress is pretty."

"Oh, Theresa!" cuts me off in a wail. I wince. Ears. Rescue. Please. A sniffle ensures. Is she. . . crying? She is. Holy mother in heaven. "It's just. . . y-you're so grown up! And. . ."

My mother withdraws from me, still sniffling and rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. She smiles a watery smile at me. "Go and change back into your clothes. We'll get the gold dress."

As I'm putting my street clothing back on, I feel a slight tinge of guilt. My parents probably think I'm thrilled to death with my impending Matching banquet, buying the bloody dress for me, and the shoes. . . And then there's my best friends, James Carstairs and Sophia Collins, who are genuinely excited for the Matching to begin. Sophie's really been all pumped up about being Matched by calling me at every minute and pouncing on me in the schoolyard to gossip frequently about what our Matches will be like. Jem, on the other hand, is more reserved, but I can tell he's happy to be Matched. They'll be shining in happiness at the banquet. And then there'll be me, the sullen shadow who publicly dumps her Match in favor of a library. Sounds about right, actually. Too right.

I stride out of the dressing room and promptly smack into the girl waiting outside. She stumbles backwards and drops the pretty blue dress she used to be holding before I plowed into her like a steamroller.

"I'm sorry!" I exclaim, horrified. How very ladylike of me. "God, I'm so sorry!"

I fetch the dress up from the floor and hand it to the girl, who brushes long, dark hair out of her face with a mischievous grin. "Eh, no harm done. Both me and the dress are intact. Match banquet on Sunday?"

"Yes," I grumble, forgetting myself and inject a dose of fake "Omigosh!" into my voice. "Er. . . _yes!_ I'm _super _excited, how about you?"

"Oh, _beyond,_" gasps the girl. She looks as if she's about to hyperventilate, she's so excited. "I just can't decide on the dress, you know? Mother says she'll try and buy as many as she can, but I really don't know. . . Know the feeling?"

And just like that, I know just who this girl is. She belongs to one of the higher-ups. The wealthiest families in Society, who can manipulate the government officials and think they're the shit. I wonder which family this girl is in. These families don't bother with the oh-so stupid public school. They go to a fancy private one for wealthies _only_. Oooh. I personally dislike the wealthy families. Hating other people isn't very nice, so I've settled for "strong disliking." My family is one of the poorer ones, so we're constantly mocked my them. It's annoying, and really dumb.

"Um. . ." I frantically search the shop for my harebrained mother, interrupting the girl in mid-babble. It was a rude move, but I did it anyways. "Sorry, there's my mother, I've got to go."

The girl's expression turns a bit crestfallen. "Oh. See you at the banquet then!" She runs off, yelling something about bird-watching. Okay. . . ?

I slap a hand up to my forehead. _Why _did I ever consider thinking I was ready for this again?

* * *

I wake up the following morning feeling out of sorts with my bad mood only fueled by the glimmering gold fabric hanging inside my closet. In a mere nine hours or so, I'll officially be Matched with a stranger. I want to cry. Except Theresa Gray doesn't cry. Ever.

So I mechanically drag myself out of bed and go through the motions of being normal and all. When I arrive at the school, I spot Jem and Sophie from quite a ways away. Jem always stands out with his dark hair and dark gold eyes with a tilt to them. Sophie is leaping about in a frenzy, her dark curls flying everywhere and her bright eyes alive and glittering. I swallow a laugh as Jem accidentally gets a mouthful of hair. Ew, but hilarious to watch!

"Tessa's here!" squeaks Sophie, and then she's on me, asking a million questions a minute. I spit hair out of my mouth (it was exactly as disgusting as it sounds), laugh, and tell Sophie to calm down.

"But. . . !" Sophie looks like a kid deprived of Christmas. "We're being _Matched, _Theresa Gray!"

"Not everyone wants to be," Jem chuckles from my left, but his words hold a different sort of solemnity. I tilt my head back, scrutinizing his features for an answer.

"Are you talking about yourself?" I ask evenly. Sophie calms for a moment, watching us carefully.

Jem shrugs elegantly as he adjusts his grip on a textbook. "I have no problems with this Matching. But it's obvious there are other people who don't feel my drift. And Sophie's, of course."

Sophie looks downright overjoyed. And then it hits me. . . Sophie's in love with Jem. How didn't I notice before? Anytime he speaks her name, talks to her, laughs at her ridiculous jokes. . . And then the way she lights up like a lightbulb. I hope to the heavens that Sophie and Jem are Matched.

"How did you. . . ?" I whisper in a small voice. I don't want to let the Officials hear, especially considering there are several of them hovering right by the doors we're passing through.

Jem shrugs again, a glint in his eyes. "There's nothing to worry about, Tessa. I'm sure you'll be Matched with someone perfect."

How is he so sure of _every freaking thing?_ "I hope so," I mutter as we part ways to our first classes of the day.

I leave the schoolyard amid the squeals of girls and nervousness of the guys. Jessamine Lovelace and Camille Belcourt, who're both blonde and pretty, are yelping about their dresses and their inevitably hot Matches. The two Lightwood brothers are talking in fast, low voices in the corner of the schoolyard. I feel restless and unsettled. Anxious. My palms are already sweating, and I try and wipe the frown off my face.

"Nervous?" Sophie asks sympathetically and I manage a nod. No way in the seventh circle of hell is my lunch coming up the way it went down. She pats my back gently. "No need to worry, Tessa. Honestly, you'll be fine. Besides, I'll see you just a bit later, hmmm?"

"What?" I croak out, my fingers fumbling for _Hard Times _in my bag. "Oh. Right. The banquet. I remember." _Stop speaking in one- and two-word sentences, Tessa! _I scold myself. Poor Sophie is no doubt thinking I'm mentally inept with my talking capabilities.

Sophie gives me an odd look. "No, I'm coming over to your house. . . Remember? Your dad is driving us both to the Matching banquet."

"Father never said anything about that." _Hard Times _is nowhere to be found. _Hamlet _will have to do. Besides. . . Hamlet's fate was indefinitely worse than mine, wasn't it? I'd rather be Matched than be in a complete mess of family politics and see my father's ghost.

"Why don't you just call him your dad?" Sophie says around the hard candy in her mouth. "Besides, you could just take your pill for anxiety, Tessa."

I think of the little round pills in their neat places inside my nightstand drawer. "No, I don't want to." If I'm going to be Matched, I might as well do it without any government pills. I think back to Sophie's first question: _Why don't you just call him your dad? _"I can't call him my. . . dad, Sophie." The word feels so foreign and strange coming out of my mouth.

"Why not?" Sophie inquires as I retie her hair ribbon in a valiant attempt at distracting her. "You don't have to tell me, sorry."

"No, it's fine," I murmur reassuringly. The thing is, it's complicated. When I was little, I decided that the word "dad" sounded fun and easygoing while the word "father" sounded absolutely upright and strict. As I grew older, I began to realize that my dad wasn't all fun and games. Eventually he decided his work took priority over everything, even his family. I could hate him for it; I know I could. Even though hate is so ugly. Instead, I chose to call him "Father." Not dad, not anything associated with being cool and nice. "It's just complicated, Sophie," I finally answer after a minute of comfortable silence.

Sophie bobs her head in understanding, and, sensing I would like a topic change, wonders, "Who d'you think I'll be Matched with? I hope it's not someone unkind."

"Sophie, your Match is perfect for _you. _You're anything but unkind, so it's impossible for you to get an unkind Match," I tell her, and Sophie beams. The happiness in her hazel eyes is enough to overpower the scar stretching across her cheek.

"Do you think they'll. . ." Sophie trails off, flushing. Sophie's family is so poor that she used to work as a parlor maid a while ago. When the boy in the house she worked at disfigured her pretty face because she rejected his advances, she quit. I just wish she'd slapped him.

"Sophie, don't dwell on that," I say sternly. "It's the Matching banquet today! Don't think of sad things; the Officials don't like that."

Sophie brightens visibly. "You're right, Tessa." She waves as we split off down the crossroads of our streets. "See you later!"

"Bye!" I yell. In spite of myself, I can't help but dread the mess waiting for me at home.

* * *

My mother is crying again.

In between fits of waterworks are the occasional "Theresa, you're so beautiful" or "My little girl is growing up!" I wish I could let a tear or two escape, but my father is in the corner of the room with his stupid monocle and watchful vision. So instead I stare at my dress in the mirror.

The gold looks perfect, really! I smooth the bodice anxiously; slipping on the pair of heels Mother went out and bought for me. I specifically told her I wasn't wearing heels (I'm already tall and ungraceful enough) but she persisted, and here I am, trying in vain not to fall on my face in black stilettos. Ouch.

Sophie bursts in, a jacket over her dark green gown. The green brings out her eyes and her scar almost disappears. And as she begins to braid my hair, I feel a little numb. Numb and terrified, with a stomach going around and around like a ship in the ocean.

The faster this night is over, the better.

* * *

There's people _everywhere. _

My stomach hurls with nerves as I observe the rushing crowds of people, most of them sixteen and waiting for their Matching to begin. Some are twitchy and anxious, while a small percentage like Jessamine Lovelace are flocking around in clouds of beauty and squeals about their Matching. My insides are squirming around and erupting into butterflies, but I try not to let it play out on my face.

Sophie catches my arm as I stumble, awkwardly tall, in my uncomfortable heels. She shoots me a small smile, rapidly scanning the area. "Careful, Tes—_Theresa._"

My parents are standing right behind us, and they (my father especially) dislike it when I'm called anything else than Theresa. Luckily, my father has no clue that I invented a new name for myself behind his back at school. Theresa sounds like the name of a spindly old lady. Tessa sounds like me. My mother has preoccupied my father with her waterworks, so he's easily distracted. Sophie and I share a glance and melt into the crowd. By the time my father will have realized I'm gone, we'll be swept up in a sea of people.

"Who's she?" Sophie's voice cuts through my wayward thoughts of books. I jolt upwards.

"Who? What?"

"That dark-haired girl over to the right. She's waving at you."

Who. . . I scrutinize her for a second before it comes back to me: She's the girl I practically knocked over in that ungodly dress shop.

"Um. . . I met her in a dress shop," I explain hastily, and drag Sophie over to her.

"Hi!" yells the girl over the chatter of everyone at the banquet. Her glossy dark hair in swirled into elegant, long curls and she's wearing the overly pretty dress she had in the dress shop, which fits her perfectly. No doubt I manage to look like a stick in a trash bag while wearing mine. "What's your name again?"

I grin at her. "I'm Tessa, and this is Sophie. And you are. . . ?"

"Cecily," she says quickly, then switches off the topic of names as Sophie smiles at her. "So, are you two excited to be Matched?"

Sophie giggles happily. "Mostly! Although. . ." She trails off as a dark look appears on her face, and I know she's thinking about her scar and the bastard that caused that. "I had an accident involving a boy a little while back."

"Son of a bitch," Cecily agrees empathetically. "And you, Tessa?"

"I'm just not ready," I mumble as the chitchat from others starts to quiet down. "I mean, it's all so sudden. . . One minute, we're sixteen and then we're Matched."

"Oh, you're like my brother, then," sighs Cecily. "He flew into a rampage. . . Something about how he doesn't want to be Matched. And then he locked himself, still in fits of rage, into the library."

"He _reads?_" pops out of my mouth before I can stop myself. Cecily and Sophie are both staring at me like I have extra heads. "Sorry, I'm just a bit. . . book-crazy."

"All day and all night," Cecily finally answers. "It's like a never-ending battle of my parents trying to get him to socialize and him shutting himself up in some corridor to read in peace and quiet." Cecily brightens. "Wait, want to meet him?"

Before either Sophie or I could say a word, Cecily has whirled around, shouting something along the lines of, "Will, you arse! Get over here!" I share a two-way look with Sophie who shrugs, telling me to _Go with it. _Fine. If he reads, he can't be that bad. . . can he?

At last Cecily reappears, her hand clenched around the sleeve of a boy who was at least a foot taller than her. He kept trying to flatten his black hair with no avail and grumbles something sullenly.

"Will," Cecily says exasperatedly, "this is Tessa and Sophie. My new friends. Tessa, Sophie, meet my brother, Will."

Will regards us with interest. There's an awkward pause where we're all staring at each other before he remarks, "Aren't you the one who ran over Cecily?"

My jaw lodges itself in its new home: the floor. Mortifyingly enough, I can feel my cheeks heating to an unflattering shade of red. "First of all, it was an _accident, _you jerk!"

Will laughs. And it isn't exactly a nice laugh either. He turns to Cecily as Sophie mutters something about going to find her parents and says something too low for me to hear. But I'm pretty sure I have it figured out when Cecily slaps him full across the face.

Thank God Sophie has vanished.

Will is rubbing his face, Cecily is glaring at him, and I'm feeling extremely awkward to be caught in the middle of this situation.

"You're such a dick!" Cecily hisses, and then flounces off. So now it's just Sir Dick and I, surrounded by people.

"Er. . ." Will looks uncomfortable for a split second, but it disappears as soon as it arrived. He smirks, and I shift my feet around. "So, I bet you're just _thrilled _to be Matched, Tess."

I match him glare for glare. "As long as my Match isn't a jerk. Like you."

This has no effect on Will. He snaps mockingly, "Only a happy ending for Tessa Gray."

"Well, I think Camille Belcourt would be perfect for you, Will," I shoot back.

Will smirks. I'm dying to smack his smirk off, but I hold back. "Didn't Cecily tell you?" His voice drops lower; more seductive. I swallow. "I'm not going to be Matched. I was _bad_."

I try to forget about everything that one word implies and frown. No, Cecily didn't say that. All she said was something about Will locking himself in the library. . . ? Whatever. "I don't really care." This is a lie. My mind is blazing up with curiosity. What did he do? What could you have possibly done to avoid being Matched?

"Excellent. Now another poor girl doesn't have to deal with you."

Will's beautiful eyes are going up in furious fires. Just as he's about to snarl something at me, the Official asks everyone to take their seats. I spot Will sliding out the door, but not before his gaze catches mine and he promptly flips me off.

I'm seething with anger as I sit next to Sophie. "Thanks for leaving me alone with that egotistical brat!"

"Sorry," Sophie whispers. "Cecily. . . Well, never mind. Besides, the Matchings are beginning!"

I stare off into space as my mother squeezes my hand. They begin with Camille Belcourt, who's Matched with a colorful guy called Magnus Bane. He looks unhappy. The Officials continue on, and then it's Sophie's turn. I give her a little shove towards the stage, where she stands shakily on.

"You are Matched with. . . Gideon Lightwood!" announces the Official as Gideon's picture appears on the screen. Tall, sandy-haired, and green-eyed, Gideon is usually kind to everyone. I hope he treats Sophie the same way.

I must've spaced out for far too long, because when my body snaps awake, my father is glowering ferociously at me, my mother is making nervous little shooing motions with her hands, and the whole room is deathly silent. They've must've called my name.

I try to brush aside my embarrassment with no success as I make my way up to the stage. The Official looks like he's making a large effort to swallow his amusement as he says, "Your Match is. . ."

My nerves are going haywire. I shift anxiously from foot to foot, hoping I don't sweat all over my pretty dress. When nothing appears on the screen, the whispers start up. I close my eyes imagine my father's beet-red face of rage, and Cecily's perplexed one in the audience. At least Will wasn't here.

The whispers cease and my eyes shoot open. At first, the Official sighs in relief, but his breath halts in horror.

And then when I see the photograph, I don't know what to think.

* * *

**IT'S A CLIFFIE. Kill me later. **

**Once again, this is NOT (for the most part) going to follow the majority of ****_Matched's _****plotline. Basically all I did was take the main idea of ****_Matched _****and borrow it. **

**So, any thoughts? Who do ****_you _****think is Tessa's Match? **

**Little notice on other fanfics: They're still in progress. That's the only thing I can think to say about that. **

**Review, favorite, follow! Y'all can be Will's Match. ;) **


	2. Chapter 2: The Almost-Match

**Chapter Two: The Almost-Match**

**DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I'm not Cassie or Ally Condie. :(**

* * *

One quick flash is all.

Dark hair, insanely blue eyes, high cheekbones. . . And in an instant I know exactly who it is.

_Will Herondale, Will Herondale, Will Herondale. _The name rings in my head like my mind is a broken record player. My mouth tastes of metal; I bit my tongue.

The Official gapes at the screen for a heartbeat before, in less than five seconds, Will Herondale's picture is gone, and shining over the screen in a very familiar face, his golden eyes caught in laughter.

Jem. Jem is my Match.

". . . Your Match is James Carstairs!" The Official's words fall on my deaf ears. Everything goes out of focus as I stand stock-still, stunned, until the Official crams a scrap of paper (questions you're supposed to ask your Match) into my hand and practically shoves me off the stage. I stumble blindly off the other side into the arms of my mother. My father stands, almost glowering, behind her like a sentinel. A _very angry_ sentinel.

A hysterical stream of giggles threatens to erupt. My father likely wanted me to be Matched with some high-up boy, like Gabriel Lightwood, for example. Father doesn't like any of my friends, and in a way, I've already rebelled just by being Matched to Jem.

I sneak a glance over my mother's head, who is openly sobbing, and give the crowd one quick scan for any traces of Will. A minute later, I deduce that Will isn't there. I breathe a large sigh of relief, and then the cogs in my brain start whirling.

I'm Matched to Jem, as in my best friend Jem Carstairs. And he's Matched to me. But then when did Will's picture show up before Jem's? I try to convince myself that it was a mistake, a common error made by the Officials, but something in my mind shan't settle. It simply refuses to.

So that night as I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, I swear to find out why Will Herondale was _almost_ my Match.

* * *

I wake up ten minutes late, so I spend my time dashing around the house and throwing on random articles of clothing so I can manage to walk to school, aka the Institute, with Sophie.

I'm shoving a piece of toast in my mouth when my mother dances down the staircase with a loud "Good morning, Theresa!"

From her tone, it sounds as if she's going to launch a full-scale discussion on being Matched. I mutter, "Good morning" in a decidedly pissed-off voice to ward her off.

Mother frowns at me, turns tail, and click-clacks back up the stairs as I rush out the door.

And just when I thought this morning couldn't get any worse, it does. Sophie and I arrive at the Institute's courtyard outside the gates (which aren't open yet because we're early) and shove our way past the Camille-Jessamine two-person clique. Sophie turns to me and mutters lowly, "Did you know there's new students?"

This makes me blink wide-eyed in surprise. No, no, I didn't know. The Institute _never _has new students. "No. Who are they?" Some part of me desperately wishes I never asked this question, because I have a horrible, horrible feeling. . .

"They just moved here a few days ago, right before the Matching," Sophie explains quietly so Jessie and Camille can't eavesdrop as well as they wish to.

"Okay. . . But who _are_ they?" I press. Part of me wants to confirm my suspicions, and the other half would like to run and hide right now.

Sophie sighs. "I don't think you're going to like this, Tessa, especially after what you told me about your Matching last night." I'd spent half an hour raving out of curiosity to Sophie about why Herondale's picture appeared first. So far, we had no leads.

I slap a hand up to my forehead. "Just tell me, Soph. Or should I get your _Match, _Gideon Lightwood, to drag it out of you?"

"Shut up," Sophie says shortly, but without putting too much harshness behind the words. "Would you like me to tease you about Jem?"

Jem was a bit of a sore spot. Sophie was still in love with Jem (although her descriptions of Gideon Lightwood made it sound like a crush was developing) and now I'd just been Matched with Jem. Awkward.

Normally, I wouldn't really mind too terribly about who Sophie teases me about, but when a voice says, "Who's teasing who?" from behind me, it's Jem, and my face feels like someone took a match**(A/N: No pun intended, heh heh)** to it.

Sophie smirks at me as if she's singing, _There's your Maaaattch _in my face. I send a glare her way. _Just wait when Gideon Lightwood appears, Soph. _

"No one," I reply quickly, wiping my abruptly sweaty palms on my skirt. Why is it now that Jem's my Match, I feel so differently towards him? I really hope things don't shift to that awkward DTR stage between us now that we're Matched. . . I'm so tired of awkwardness. "No one's teasing anyone."

"Well—" Sophie starts, but I instantly interrupt her. Jem looks a little confused at this point, glancing back and forth between the two of us.

"Anyways, Sophie, what were you saying?" I mutter.

Jem smiles slightly. "Hey, I'll be right back. I have to go and find someone." And with that, Jem melts back into the throng of students.

I turn back to Sophie with a glare and press, "So, _what were you saying?_"

A contrastingly nervous yet evilly-delighted expression crosses Sophie's face. "Weeeelllll," she says haltingly, as if to draw out my suspenseful torture (I resist the urge to ask her if "Well" is her favorite word today), "the new students. . . They're—"

Right on cue, a horribly familiar voice shouts sullenly, "By the _Angel_, Jem, _she's _showing me around the school today?!"

I know who it is before spinning around: Will Herondale, in the flesh. And he's at. My. School.

_This isn't happening, _I plead with myself, _this really isn't happening, this can't possibly be—_

All of my wayward, tangled thoughts are sharply cut off when, against my own volition, I turn around. And bloody hell, Will Herondale is protesting furiously with Jem, who looks exasperated and the most annoyed I'd seen him. Ever. Cecily hovers a bit behind the Will-Jem-Me triangle of horror with her Match, Gabriel Lightwood, who watches Will smugly. One tiny choking noise of laughter escapes Sophie, and that's all it takes to make me snap.

"What the _hell?!" _come flying from my mouth. Sophie shuts up immediately. "What is _he _doing here?"

Will is looking at me now, his features mirroring what mine must surely look like. The only credit I'll give him is that he recovers pretty damn quick. In less than five seconds, his bad-boy act at charm had been smacked back on him, like he'd just slapped sense into himself. His voice is smooth and a little bored and much too arrogant for my tastes as he rolls out, "The real question, Tess, is what _you're_ doing here."

_Tess. _I like it, and then I hate myself for it. "This is where _I_ go to school," I spit angrily. "Did you take my advice from last night and come looking for Camille Belcourt?"

Something like blind fury crackles across Will. There's a pause where Cecily and Gabriel take off towards the Institute's entrance. I don't blame them—if I would ever let myself turn tail and vanish from Will's sight, I would. Then Will snarls, "Remember why I said I wasn't Matched, _Tess?_"

"Do you expect _me_ to be afraid of _you?_" I don't realize I'm laughing almost madly until Will unintentionally cracks a knuckle and everything falls into a sharp silence.

Jem clears his throat. He looks like he wishes he could clear the air between Will and I as well. "Will and Cecily are new here, Tessa. Gabriel, Cecily's Match, is showing her around. And since Will doesn't have a Match, Ms. Branwell recommended you."

"I hope you're not saying I'm Matched with her," Will says to Jem as if I wasn't even there. His words are nasty, but his voice is more pleasant. Weird.

"You think I _want_ to be Matched with you, William?" I scoff. Will's head whips my way and his mocking, malicious tone is back.

What catches me off guard is the wink Will tosses my way. For a second there, he was. . . almost attractive. I shake my head. _Those are dangerous thoughts. Don't think them. _"Give me a break, Tess. _Everyone _wants to be Matched with this."

"What, a slimy arsehole, you mean?"

"Will, shut up," Jem directs almost fondly towards Will, and I wonder how long they've known each other. "Tessa, you will be showing him around. Sorry." Jem shoots me a sheepish smile and lopes off.

Great. Just great. And now everyone has ditched me to be left with Will Bloody Herondale for a day. If I have to hang around him more than a day, I'll shoot myself in the face.

"Come on," I mutter angrily to Will, dragging him away from Jessamine Lovelace and in the direction of the Institute.

"You're no fun," Will pouts. "The bell hasn't even rang yet!"

If I don't punch him by the end of today, it'll be some sort of miracle. I prayed that Sophie might just show up about _now. _That would be like a Christmas present to me.

"You'll live," I call over my shoulder to Will, who isn't there. My head snaps back around and he's walking right beside me. Damn him.

"Surprised, Tess?"

I can't think of a witty response to this, so I keep my mouth shut. Will keeps pace with me, an annoying smirk on his face.

_Damn you, Will Herondale. _

* * *

**WILL**

* * *

I watch the brunette girl with the strange gray eyes heave with anger as she stalks ahead. Theresa Gray, I remember, that's her name. At Jem had said it was. He'd also mentioned something about not trying anything on Theresa because she's Jem's Match. I had scoffed in his face.

In my opinion, the whole "Match" concept was bullshit. How the hell is the government supposed to know our supposed Match when we're sixteen? The way Society runs today is crap.

But, of course, there's a solution to every problem. So I had made it positive that I would never be Matched in my life. It was easy, really. Officials are so prone to snap at anything, so one little "mistake" on my part, and I had "doomed my fate." My parents blew a gasket, but it was definitely worth it. The bad thing was that it came with a price. _Shut up, Will. _

And now I was trapped at this godforsaken school with a furious girl who had singlehandedly written herself down in my books for life.

"Too slow to keep up, William?" snaps a taunting voice. She wheels around to add in an extra glower for emphasis, whirling back towards the school shortly afterwards.

I clench my jaw shut before replying as calmly and mockingly as I could, "Excited that you get to spend the rest of the day with yours truly?"

A sniff. And then, searingly, "Didn't I tell you that assholes aren't my type?"

I made my eyes widen in mock surprise. "What now, Tess, I didn't think we'd reached this stage in our relationship."

She goes stiff, and I smirk slyly. I thought I won this verbal spat until she hisses, "Are you _asking _me to castrate you?"

"I always knew you wanted my d—"

Theresa stops walking and her hands tighten into fists as she snarls viciously, "Shut the _hell _up, you little _fucker!_"

I raise an eyebrow, unfazed. "Swearing again, Tess? I don't think the Officials will appro—"

_SMACK! _Her fist connects violently with my jaw. I stumble backwards a bit. It hurts like hell, and my mouth f lies open, releasing a long, loud stream of epithets.

She's Lilith in mortal clothing.

Theresa surveys her work—a bruise, throbbing jaw, and swearing me—with a look of extreme satisfaction. The next thing I know, she's pulled out _Crime and Punishment _(the thing is like a very heavy doorstop) and is waving it menacingly. I hear, "Next time, it'll be the book." And my jaw falls open as she flounces off, flexing her hand.

_Who is she. . . ?_

With every smirk-accompanied remark I deftly whisper at Theresa during our first class—math—I see her attempts at ignoring me burst like bombs. She gets angrier and angrier until she finally snaps at me to shut up. I lean back, pleased at getting a reaction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a blonde girl with ruby-red lips and eyes like bright, hard gemstones swoon. This brings a larger smirk to my face. My gaze shifts back to Theresa, and I spot her clutching her pencil like she's about ready to impale my eyeballs on the pointy end.

Once this dull class ends, Theresa drags me out of the classroom. She must like dragging things. "Hey Theresa," I call, ready with another innuendo because it's too much fun to make her blush, "you must—"

"Don't call me that," Theresa says from between her teeth as we head off to a Society History class.

"Wait, what?" I stop talking completely; taken aback. "Oh, do you not want to be called hot—"

Fire blazes in her eyes. "No, you brainless imbecile. 'Theresa.' Don't call me it."

"Why?" I ask her, genuinely curious.

"My—" she cuts herself off and mumbles quickly, "I just don't like it, okay?"

"Okay." We stand looking at each other for a second before I recover myself; I'm Will Herondale, I have a persona to upkeep. "Sure thing, Tess."

Tessa spins back around. I can tell that by the set of her shoulders that I've managed to piss her off again and by the way she says coldly, "Mr. Wayland's classroom is this way." There's also a muttered "Asshat" under her breath. A slightly bitter smile appears on my face that I know Tessa will never see, and I follow her to the History classroom.

* * *

**TESSA**

* * *

I never thought I'd hate anyone more than Camille and Jessamine, but then Will Herondale just has to appear and prove me wrong. Of course. The day I finally meet a bigger jerk than the blondes has finally arrived. And let me clarify that it was hate at first sight, so why did I laugh when he murmured to me, "Do you like the food here?"

It was so absurd and right underneath Mr. Wayland's drivel about the Society that I found myself responding suspiciously, ". . . yes, why do you ask?"

Will looks me straight in the eye and replies with a blank face, "Beauty is only temporary, but cooking is eternal." He wiggles his eyebrows at me and his voice lowers as he says seductively, "Do you have any. . . _chocolate things?"_

I stare at him for a minute, my eyes wide. _What the. . ._

And before I know it, a loud laugh has escaped my mouth and the small class has affixed their eyes to Will and I. Gideon Lightwood looks vaguely amused, Jessamine jealous, Camille applying lipstick, Thomas confused, and Gabriel Lightwood staring daggers at Will. Mr. Wayland looks annoyed and exasperated as he says sternly, "Is there something you'd like to share, Miss Gray, Mr. Herondale?"

"Excuse me, sir," Will spouts suavely. Suck-up. "It's my fault, I was the one who asked Tes—Tessa whether she likes the f—"

I jab an elbow in Will's stomach, and he breaks off with a surprised cough. "Nothing, sir," I say as straight-faced as I can manage. One corner of my mouth twitches, and Mr. Wayland zeroes on it for a heartbeat before letting me go with a look.

"Next time you won't be so lucky, Miss Gray. And Mr. Herondale, please refrain from talking about—"_cough_ "—f-worded things in my class."

It takes a second for Mr. Wayland's sentence to sink in, and when it does, the rest of the class erupts in bales of laughter. My face is alarm-bell-red and hotter than a furnace as I mentally curse Mr. Wayland out in my head. Will looks like he fancies turning Mr. Wayland into a fly and slapping him with a rolled-up newspaper.

And that's how class begins. . . and ends. Once Mr. Wayland manages to get everyone calmed down and under control, he starts the lesson. High-pitched epithets of giggling interrupt him spasmodically at random intervals—Jessamine and Camille. Naturally. Five minutes before class gets out and right after Camille finishes applying her twentieth coat of lipstick, (leading her mouth to look like she just because a vampire) she whispers in a supposedly "subtle" tone, "_F-worded things." _And then, louder, in a scandalized voice, "Jessie, what if he's _doing _her still? I mean" –even louder here—"_that's what they were talking about!_"

My face is going up in flames. Camille has officially doused it in gasoline. The Lightwood brothers exchange a glance. Thomas mouths, "_Sorry_" at me. I nod and then snap my head in Camille's direction to glare daggers at her. She responds with a wholeheartedly smug look.

When Mr. Wayland finally lets us go, I've never been more willing to bow at his feet and sing his praises. I'm ready to dash out the door like I'm running for my life until Will snags my wrist.

I twist backwards, sighing in annoyance. "What?"

"Her name's Camille, right?" Will lets go of my arm when I yank it free as soon as we set foot outside of Mr. Wayland's classroom. "The blonde, lipstick-y one."

"Yeah," I say, trying for _indifference._ "You should know, William. Wouldn't she be your _exact _Match or something?"

"She's such a bitch," Will continues on as if he doesn't even hear my snarky and very sarcastic remark.

"Wait." Dammit, he's caught me off guard again. "Why? I mean, yeah. . . But you don't even know her."

A pause. And then Will imitates Camille to a par, "'Jessie, what if he's _doing _her still?' Does this explain it to you?" Will sighs. "I wanted so badly to slap her for that." He snarls lowly, "That little bitch."

"_Will!_" I hiss sharply to him, my eyes darting around frantically for any sign of Camille or Jessamine. Instead, I almost end up careening into Gideon Lightwood—until Will tugs strongly on my arm and I'm drawn straight into his chest. His dark blue eyes stare, veiled, at me for a heartbeat and then I'm released.

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I don't really care," I reply, shaking my head furiously at Gideon, who snapped his head around drew an imaginary line between Will and I. _What _is up with him? Besides, Jem is my Match. Not Will, not Will, not Will, I repeat violently to myself.

Will winks at me. "Because you want a piece of—"

Ugh, he's back. I groan inwardly. "Shut _up_, William," I snap, pushing past him. A second later and he's smoothly striding besides me. Damn him.

"Where to next, O Slayer of Ducks?"

I almost stop dead and a laugh escapes me before I can help it. "Slayer of Ducks? _Slayer of Ducks, _Will? Do you have a. . ." I trail off, trying to think of the most humiliating thing to accuse him of. ". . . duck fetish now?"

Will laughs loudly. "Duck fetish!"

I scoff at him. "You know, screwing people with rubber—"

"Thanks _so_ much for that, Tess."

I smile in a very satanic way up at him. "My pleasure. But tell me about this duck fetish of yours."

"Who has a duck fetish?" comes from behind me. Jem. Will takes a hasty step away from me as Jem appears, smiling at the both of us.

"Well," Will starts out, "Tessa—"

"Will," I interrupt him quickly before Jem can get any, um, ideas about me. "Will does, but he won't confirm it."

Jem looks a little bewildered, but snickers all the same at the idea of a duck fetish. "Tessa, you've got it a little mixed up. With Will, you see, it's really the exact opposite."

"Exact. . . opposite?" I wonder, then it all begins to click. "Wait, Will, you're actually—"

"That's _enough_ of that," Will snaps, and I feel slightly guilty for antagonizing him, but not really. Besides, he was an arse to me. "Don't go telling Tessa all my secrets, Jem, or she won't have a reason to stick around me," he adds in a more forced good-natured tone.

"Why am I still talking to you, Will? I mean, you're conceited and a real—"

"If you're interested in my ar—"

"Why would anyone be interested in you, you great, slimy—"

"Well, one part of me is certainly—"

"Let's not cut each other to pieces yet, children," Jem puts in between me and Will's incessant bickering. He laughs. "There's plenty of time for that at lunch."

"Right, Jem," I say as sweetly as I can manage, and then venomously to Will, "Come on, we're supposed to be in our next class right now."

At lunch, Will is technically supposed to sit near me or something, but instead I find him with Jessamine and Camille all over him. And I'm not sitting anywhere close to those two blondes if you paid me. So instead, I ignore Will (just like he did to me) and spot Jem, Cecily, and Gabriel sitting in the most aloof corner of the courtyard.

"Hi, Tessa!" beams Cecily. Gabriel offers me a small smile (well, it's a start) and Jem pats the empty expanse of stone next to him. A tiny frown appears on Cecily's face as she realizes Will is nowhere to be seen. "Where's Will?"

"I thought he was supposed to sit with you. . . ?" Jem questions, his gold eyes glinting in the shaded sunlight.

"Me too," I agree. "I think he's off with the blondes, though."

"Oh," Cecily mutters. She shares a look with Gabriel, and I can't exactly read it. Regret, anxiety, fear, hope, anger. . . The strong blend of emotions hidden in it leaves me too curious for my own good.

"What happened?" I whisper to Jem, who also looks concerned.

He jumps like I stabbed him with a white-hot poker, his sunlit eyes shifting to my stormy ones. "It's no matter, Tessa." His hand brushes mine as I smile at him.

"Okay, Jem. I believe you."

He grins back, and a sense of awkwardness sweeps over me. When I look away, my gaze somehow finds Will's. And the expression in his eyes is nothing but malice. He smirks, and I can almost hear the insulting words rolling off his tongue. As he reaches for Camille, I turn back to Jem.

But I still feel curious. To hell with "curiosity killed the cat."

* * *

**YOU GUYS I'M SO HAPPY! WHY THOUGH? BECAUSE SCHOOL IS DONEEEEEEE! *cries in disbelief* Finally! **

**THIS IS IMPORTANT: With school being out and all, this means that yes, I will be updating more! YEAH! The Clockwork Academy update will be out in a bit, the COTF one will come out veryyy soon, the Dark Clarity one I'm working on, Clockwork Enigma is also being edited, and the Lily x James first chapter is due soon as well. Yay! **

**I'm so thankful for all the readers, reviewers, favoriters, and followers! Y'ALL ARE FREAKING AWESOME AND KEEP ME ALIVE ON ! I did NOT expect 14 reviews. . . more like 8, haha. But yeah, big fat thanks to all of you!**

**Issi Herondale: First of all, awesome username :D Second of all, thank you so much! I'm glad you think so, and I hope you enjoy the update! Thanks for reviewing :)**

**iluvmagnus101: Oh my gosh, thanks! I didn't think that anyone would consider this amazeballs, but you prove me wrong haha :-) Thanks a ton for the review!**

**SilverCarstairs: You're back! Yep, Jessa and Wessa. . . But who knows what the final ship will be? Hehe. You'll find the answer to that very soon. . . *hint hint* I'm sorry it took me so long to update! Omg, thank you so much though! Love you too. .. . CAUSE YOU'RE SUCH AN AMAZING REVIEWER! **

**Guest: Are you right or are you not right? That is the question XD Thanks for the review!**

**grace: I'm so sorry I haven't updated DC in what. . . forever! But never fear, DC has NOT been abandoned! In fact, I'm slipping over to work on that as soon as I finish updating MS. Thank you so much for the review :)**

**Morning and Eve: I'm stunned by the amount of people that really like this story! Thank you so so so much! I try XD I hope you like the update! Thanks a billion for your review of awesomeness XD**

**vialovesbooka: Yep! Apologies because it took me ages to get this bloody chapter up :p Thank you for reviewing!**

**TessaElsaHerondale: Ik, I wanted to so badly. . . But I had to put some intrigue in there! Don't worry, Wessa will be plentiful, though :D Thank you! I'm super happy you like it! And thanks for reviewing!**

**Guest: I was about to put in Will, and then. . . well, you'll find out why I put in Jem as the story goes on :) Thank you so much and thank god you like MS! Thanks for the review!**

**D: You'll be very happy then :D Thank you for the review!**

**cecilyedandme: Don't worry, I'm definitely not leaving this one :D Ahaha you're welcome! I'm the same way with money and books, though. . . Just look at ANYTHING Cassandra Clare as an example. . . MUST. . . BUY. . . IT. . . ALL. . . haha! Thank you for the awesome review :)**

**Guest: Right on! Thanks for reviewing!**

**rebecca de silva: Majorly glad you think so! Sorry it took me so long to update XD Thank you for the review!**

**ihearttmi: Love your username—me too! Sorry to keep you in suspense—I did NOT mean to take so damn long to update. But thanks for reviewing!**


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